Perfect
by planet p
Summary: AU; Mrs. Bowman was going to be the perfect mother, if she ever got the chance. Martha/Lyle


**Perfect** by planet p

**Disclaimer** I don't own _the Pretender_ or any of its characters.

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Her mother – _mama_, in her mother's native German – had always said she'd be an awful mother herself. Elsie brushed aside these concerns, at least, outwardly.

What would her mother know of life in the West – in _America_ – she still spoke German, and refused to accept that English was her language now.

Her father allayed the argument, at least, to his own mind, with his oft statement that he didn't see the big fuss, the big difference. Heck, the English royalty was practically German, so far as he'd heard it, though, not from so many Englishmen, but from trustworthy others. In fact, he quite liked the English, himself.

Elsie – Elisabeth, by birth – restrained herself, at great pains, from pulling her hair, and shouting at her father that they were not in England, by the love of God, they were in America!

Her child would call her mommy, and, when he or she grew older, as mom – not _mama_!

Though, as the years of her marriage wore on, Elsie found her dream of becoming a mother escaping her, sure there was something wrong with her, that she'd been cursed by her mother.

Her mother had never liked her the way the mothers of the other girls at school had liked their daughters, and lavished attention and affection upon them. She'd resented her, in a way, for her father's attention, and for, as their only child, the fact that she'd been able to have no more children after her birth.

She'd been the first, and she'd damaged something inside her. It was only fitting that the curse that she had bestowed upon her mother with her birth should be bestowed upon her also. _An eye for an eye_, as they said in Holy Scripture.

- Bobby said she'd read it wrong; said that it meant that one who hadn't experienced what the other had, couldn't fully understand – or even comprehend, at least to its full extent, for that matter – the entirety of the circumstance. Of course, they could sympathise, but, in the definition of the word, they couldn't truly empathise. (Elsie quietly hated her husband, Lyle's, incessancy with collecting those awful magazines, what he called 'journals' of psychology – a right load of nonsense, if she'd ever heard such a thing!) Or maybe, it was something different entirely, and he was merely too young, too inexperienced, to yet understand. –

Elsie hadn't dared broach the subject of her inability to fall pregnant with Lyle, she'd been too afraid and ashamed – what if, by bringing the subject to light, she lay an undue urgency upon it, and Lyle left her for another woman who _could_ bear child; the thought wasn't one she thought she could tolerate, and, certainly, it would not be by her doing, or encouragement, that it would come to pass – she'd never bring into question her husband's ability to assist in the child's conception; she was a good wife, and a person of humility, and she loved her husband far too much to drive him to hurt that way, or, even possibly, to the arms of another woman.

She'd chosen him as her husband, and he'd been good enough to allow her to do so – seeking her hand in marriage from her father and mother – he'd chosen her, too; so, as far as she was concerned, she'd brought her own lot upon herself by her actions. Often, she felt badly that she'd brought it, too, upon her husband, and that it was hardly fair, for him to have this unkind destiny thrust upon him that he could hardly deserve. She loved him more with each day that passed, each hour, even, perhaps.

Robert was a problem child; he didn't talk, and he was hard to decipher, at the best of times. The worst was expected – and assumed, by many – of course, but Elsie had known, from the moment she'd seen him, and been told of his history, that she would be a _wonderful mother _to this child, and that she'd be the one to make the difference!

That was, of course, only with her husband's consent. Of course, Lyle loved her deeply – as she did he – and agreed: What harm, after all, could it do? She'd have all the practise she needed with Robert for when their own little ones arrived!

She'd particularly loved him that day, though she'd felt, too, at his words, a hollowness that she'd been feeling for some time, stronger, and thought how odd it was, how strange, that at the moment she'd learned that she was to have everything that she'd ever wanted, that she should feel both such extraordinary love, and adventure, and, also, such harrowing sorrow, and guilt. She loved Lyle, that much was true – it could never be truer, she thought – yet she could not bring herself to disclose her fears to him, though, she'd felt – and promised herself secretly, upon their wedding night – that they would share everything with one another.

The day that she decided that she – _they_ – absolutely must adopt Bobby felt, to her, like the first nail in their shared coffin, yet she couldn't be happier.

She'd be a wonderful mother, as she'd always believed; in fact, she'd have little Bobby talking in no time at all, and making friends. She'd have him up to scratch, and brilliant – _just as his name promised_ – in no time.

He didn't hug her that first day, but the second day, when she hugged him, he didn't resist, and by the third day, he'd grown sufficiently confident that _he_ offered her a hug. She couldn't be prouder; it was almost as if he really was her own son, and he was!

He was small for his age, and ever so gentle, she thought with a quiet satisfaction – all of those other mothers, those other women she'd attended school with, complaining of their loud, rowdy children – though well enough affectionate, in fact, she found him very affectionate –somewhat clingy, perhaps – that she simply couldn't fathom why he'd stayed within the system for so long before being adopted; it didn't seem fair, on such an adoring thing like him.

Of course, they'd moved back to she and Lyle's hometown from the city; it would be best for Bobby, and for her; there'd be the support of her family to look forward to, and of her friends, too. And an opportunity to boast and show little Bobby off to all of the other mothers.

The notion had been hers first, and she'd been reluctant to share it with Lyle for fright that he'd not like what it suggested about her, that he'd find her false and bitter, spiteful, even, though, in the end, she drew the courage and just came out with it, and, to her astonishment, he agreed.

Despite the undeniable hurt it would, at first, cause her parents – to know that they'd kept the existence of their only grandchild from them for so long – it would eventually, of course, give them greater joy and fulfilment to think that Bobby was, in fact, their biological grandchild, and added incentive to offer their assistance, and, when the time came, to deposit an inheritance into either her, or Bobby's, name.

Of course, put that way, Elsie couldn't allow herself to feel any guilt, and it _was_ safer that way, too; there'd never be any chance of any _unintended_ or Alzheimer's-provoked slip ups, in which Bobby might learn that they weren't his biological parents, if they'd didn't know.

Her parents, of course, reacted the way she'd imagined – and dreamt, so many nights – they would; her mother, particularly, playing the hurt and confused card well, but, in time, the hurt had been put to the background, and Bobby became their favourite little grandchild, as Elsie always knew – and had planned – he would.

Her mother could parrot the same old lines to her heart's content, whilst the proof stared her right back in the face, and Elsie found that though she always felt a stab of pain, that she felt, along with the pain, a stab of uplifting righteousness and correctness; she'd always known she'd be a _perfect_ mother, after all, from the time her father had bought her her first doll, and her mother's nit-picking and faultfinding and obstinacy only proved her right every time. She was a great mother!

A much better mother than her own mother had ever been, she often thought.

Bobby, of course, eager to please, was always well behaved. And well he should be, she thought, she was a fantastic example, as was his father.

The epilepsy only tasted of her mother's curses.

But she made sure to concoct one of her own back.


End file.
